Pentagram
by Lisa12
Summary: Reyes becomes involved in a game of mind control and supernatural fanfare. Please R/R - sorry if it seems a bit rushed - Enjoy!


Title: Pentagram  
  
Monica woke from another nightmare, and sighed to herself. Sitting up in bed she could see the lamp on beside her and switched it off, suddenly fuelled by anger. 'Why does this keep happening to me?' She didn't understand.  
  
She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and put her head in her hands, before running her fingers through her hair. Reyes' skin was clammy and she was dehydrated. Standing, she went and got a drink of water from the bathroom sink, splashing her face.  
  
Almost as soon as she willed the phone to ring it did, and she walked across the room to pick it up.  
  
"Monica Reyes," she answered, rather professionally for two in the morning.  
  
"What on earth are you doing awake?" John asked over the line.  
  
"The phone woke me up," she stated obviously.  
  
"No way Reyes, I know your voice when you're awake." He sighed. "Listen, Skinner wants you and me to go on a little trip."  
  
"Now?"  
  
"Yeahuh. Right up your alley I believe."  
  
"Oh great," she mumbled, not realising that she had done so aloud.  
  
"Huh?" John asked for clarification. "Nothing. Dana coming?"  
  
"Are you kidding?" William, she remembers. "You okay Agent Reyes?"  
  
"Yeah, listen I'll meet you-"  
  
"I'll be by your place in ten. Leaving now." He hung up and she looked around for a decent suit.  
  
*  
  
"If only Mulder was here, eh?" John tried to joke with her. Monica rolled her eyes as they both stood in the broken field. Around them, stalks of wheat were snapped and lying on their sides, resting in the dirt. Skinner came up behind them.  
  
"Got any theories?" he asked. Monica looked at him blankly before he handed her a photograph. "This was taken half an hour ago up in a chopper."  
  
"It's a crop circle," John said as he looked at it over his partner's shoulder.  
  
"It's a pentogram," Skinner added. "Reyes?"  
  
"It's a pentogram," I repeated steadily. "So? So someone's playing around."  
  
"This is the middle of nowhere Agents. There are no farms here." John looked over at Skinner and Monica knew what he was about to say.  
  
"Then how did someone find it in the middle of the night, and who reported it to the FBI?" Skinner hesitated.  
  
"That information seems to have been...misplaced. But the officer remembers the caller asking specifically for Agent Reyes to handle it."  
  
"Oh great," she mumbled for the second time in as many hours. John caught her eye briefly and he recognised the phrase as the same she had spoken over the phone to him. She scratched her head, trying to avoid his eyes. "Been any more of these?" She asked, slightly out of character. Skinner shook his head.  
  
"No, just this one."  
  
"All right then. What's the weather been like-" She was cut off by a field agent calling to Skinner.  
  
"Sir! Over here!" The three of them followed the voice into the centre of the mess, only to see the agent kneeling over a body.  
  
"Looks like she's only just dead," he added. "Still warm."  
  
Monica knelt down at the body and took the dead woman's hand. The agent was right. She was warm. Warm enough to had died in the last ten minutes.  
  
"Shit," Reyes whispered, standing and spinning on her heel. John and Skinner were watching her intensely. They knew she could understand what was happening, yet she left them in the dark. "Hey!" she called to the field agents who are retreating out of the crime scene. They turned and one approached her.  
  
"Yes Agent Reyes?"  
  
"I want the chopper to go back up there again."  
  
"What for Agent?" Skinner cut in. She turned to him.  
  
"To search."  
  
"For what?" John asked.  
  
"Bodies." She took a pen and the photograph that the agent handed her and circled the points of the star. "Here, here, here, here and here." She handed it back to them. "Go." She turned back to John.  
  
"Call Scully."  
  
Kneeling back down beside the woman something struck Monica as familiar about her. She sat back on her heels, thinking, realising that she'd seen her around. She'd seen her at work.  
  
"Sir," she started cautiously, calling Skinner and John back over to her. "Sir I think this a federal agent." Skinner knelt down next to Monica and looked at the face.  
  
"I don't know her," Skinner replied, watching Reyes for a response.  
  
"I've seen her in the building."  
  
"Much?"  
  
"Yes. Often. Maybe she was called out here tonight and killed."  
  
"Why isn't she dressed like it then?" John asked. She shrugged.  
  
"Then maybe she wasn't." Monica reached into the pockets of the woman's clothes, looking for any ID. There was none. Standing, she looked around. Some distance away she spotted a wallet bathed in yellow light. At that same time, the helicopter had risen into the air in the distance, preparing to sweep the scene with its headlights. As it got closer, Monica held my hair together with one hand, while reaching to pick up the small FBI-issue identification wallet from the ground. She walked back to John and handed it to him. "Hers?" she asked as he opened it, his brow creasing. He looked back up at his partner, and she can tell that something was wrong.  
  
"No," he said. "Yours." She almost laughed.  
  
"What?" He nodded, turning and showing her the face and inscription inside the plastic sleeves. Her face flushed hot. She didn't understand. Skinner walked up to them.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked.  
  
"Agent Reyes found this on the ground not ten metres from here," he showed it to Skinner. "It's hers."  
  
"You dropped it Reyes?"  
  
"Uh, no sir. I wasn't aware that it left my pocket-" Monica instinctively put her hand into her pocket and John watched as her face became more confused. Pulling out the small FBI-issue identification wallet from her pocket, she opened it. It was hers. Monica Reyes. She showed it to Doggett and Skinner. "See?" John and Skinner both shared a confused and almost worried glance as the chopper's spotlight began flashing in its place.  
  
They ran in its direction, and found another woman's body. Freshly dead. One body for each of the five points, one body in the centre, each of them with Reyes' identification on them.  
  
*  
  
Scully stretched her neck as John and Monica entered the morgue. John smiled at her.  
  
"You look busy."  
  
"For six in the morning? Seems it," she replied, glancing briefly at the five bodies that surrounded her. "I'm only up to the preliminary observations at the moment." She looked back over at them. "As far as I can tell they all died in the same way, at the same time."  
  
"Same time?" John asked. Scully nodded.  
  
"Their temperatures are identical in every respect. If they didn't die at the same time, they all died within an hour of each other." Monica shook her head.  
  
"No, it's not possible that one person killed five women in five different areas of that field. It would've taken much longer than that."  
  
"Well then I think you're looking for multiple perpetrators."  
  
"How did they die?" John interrupted. Scully smirked.  
  
"Well at the moment I'm thinking that they were drowned."  
  
"Drowned? In a wheat field?" Scully shrugged.  
  
"Stay, watch me cut open a lung," she invited casually. "You'll see."  
  
"Oh God," Monica mumbled for the third time.  
  
"Do you know something about this?" John asked finally. She winced.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"You don't know?"  
  
"Scully, can you work out how they drowned, do you think?"  
  
"As in where?" Monica nodded as Scully did also. "Yeah, sure."  
  
"Hang on," John interrupted. "Those women died in a wheat field. There aint no water to drown in out in the middle of all that crop." Scully looked over at Monica and they both turned blankly to John.  
  
"You think of a better explanation," Monica stated.  
  
"Why do you think they all had a copy of your ID?" Scully asked her, curious. "Seems a little odd."  
  
"Tell em how they drowned, and I'll tell you why," Monica replied, walking out. John followed her.  
  
"I'll call you," Scully grumbled once they were out of hearing range, before smirking, going back to her work.  
  
*  
  
"They were drowned in water much like tap water," Scully stated that afternoon, sitting at her desk and looking as tired as she undoubtedly felt.  
  
"From a tap?" Monica asked.  
  
"That's where tap water comes from Monica," Scully sighed. "What is this?"  
  
"I think it's Dibley."  
  
"Who the hell's that?" John asked. "Or should I ask what?"  
  
"Narr, who," Monica replied. "He's locked in a psychiatric ward in Louisiana."  
  
"You think some guy in a straightjacket did this?" Monica nodded.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"What exactly did he do?" Scully asked.  
  
"What did he do or what's he doing now?"  
  
"Uh, let's start at the beginning," she replied. Monica sighed.  
  
"All right, he was the leader of an underground cult. They believed in everything from the devil to white superiority."  
  
"Mm, so he's a nutter-" John started, but Monica kept going.  
  
"We caught him during an undercover investigation-"  
  
"Were you involved in this?" Scully asked.  
  
"Yeah, I was it."  
  
"You were what?" John asked.  
  
"It, I was the one who went undercover."  
  
"Why didn't undercover do it?"  
  
"Because if someone from undercover had done it they would've come out with permanent psychological scars."  
  
"Oh and you didn't?"  
  
"No," she lied. "Anyway we caught him, he went in. He has a problem with anger management. Plus he's a paranoid delusional-"  
  
"How do you think he killed those six women?"  
  
"I think he drowned them."  
  
"Do you really want to know?" Monica asked. Scully and Doggett both nodded. "Well I always thought there might've been something to him, something that the psychiatrists missed, but I never questioned them. Frankly, I think he got all those women extremely thirsty and led them to water, and then the waters dried up, and the only thing left was his tag."  
  
"The pentagram?" John asked. She nodded.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"You think he just made them think there was water there?"  
  
"No I think there was."  
  
"There's no evidence of water there," Scully said.  
  
"No of course not that'd be stupid."  
  
"I don't understand," John said. Monica sighed.  
  
"Look it's really easy, he led them out there and there was a big pool of water. They all thought they were so thirsty they dived right in, except..." she drifted off. "And hot," she added. "Thirsty and hot, they all dived right in and he drowned them, and then he took the water away, as though it was never there."  
  
"And he did this how?" John still looked at her as though she was insane.  
  
"With his mind," she replied evenly.  
  
"Maybe we should go and visit him?" Scully suggested.  
  
"No, I shouldn't go there."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I can't let him control me." Scully and Doggett watched her carefully. There was something she wasn't telling them, and Monica wasn't about to let them in on it.  
  
*  
  
"Ah, agents, so good to see you," Dibley began as Scully and Doggett entered his cell.  
  
"You knew we were coming Mr Dibley?" Scully asked. He shrugged.  
  
"Not really, I thought you might though."  
  
"That's nice," Doggett replied. "All right, you know a Monica Reyes?"  
  
"Of course I know a Monica Reyes, she's a dear friend of mine."  
  
"Is she?" Scully asked.  
  
"Oh yes. We go back a long way."  
  
"I'm sure you do. How much do you know about the six women who died two days ago?" she continued.  
  
"More than you think. But I wasn't there. I didn't do it."  
  
*  
  
"Someone should just shoot the bastard," John mumbled as they got back into their cars.  
  
"If Monica's right," Scully added.  
  
"Oh come on Dana, you know she is. She always is." Scully smiled.  
  
"Is she? I hadn't noticed."  
  
*  
  
Monica sat in her apartment and could feel him inside her head.  
  
Stop it, she told herself, it's not possible. He can't read your mind.  
  
Can't I?  
  
"Piss off," she grumbled aloud, walking into the kitchen to get a drink while breathing deeply to calm herself down.  
  
*  
  
"Well okay so let's think about this," John stated as they headed back to the office. "He wants to get back at her? Would that be why he put all those IDs on those women?"  
  
"You think it was a warning? A long way to go just to warn someone." John shrugged.  
  
"You never know-" He stopped as Monica appeared in the office doorway.  
  
"I need to tell you something," she said.  
  
"Go ahead," Scully replied before John could get a word in.  
  
"I was there when those women died." No one said anything, waiting for her to explain. When she didn't...  
  
"You were at home when I called you," John said quietly.  
  
"Yeah, but I was there in my mind. I saw it all. Except, those women weren't themselves, they were all me."  
  
"All six?" Scully asked.  
  
"No, five, there was never anyone in the centre, that's why at first I didn't realise-"  
  
"And it was all in your dream?" John asked.  
  
"Everything, yes. It's taken a while to come back in full, but it has. I was there."  
  
"Who were you in the dream?" Scully asked. "What were you doing?"  
  
"Watching. I remember turning to see everybody dying, and watching."  
  
"So you were in the centre?"  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"What happened then?"  
  
"I woke up, hot and thirsty."  
  
"Shit," John whispered. "Why didn't you-"  
  
"I wasn't sure what is was, I wasn't sure...What to do."  
  
"This guy's locked up," Scully stated. Monica nodded. "But he can still get to you."  
  
"Yeah," Monica replied.  
  
"How often has he done this to you since you went undercover?"  
  
"Only at night."  
  
"And you knew?"  
  
"I suspected. Only because of the profile we'd built of who he was and what he did during the investigation. I never knew if it was him, or just my dream. As I said, the investigators didn't think there was anything 'real' about what he claimed."  
  
"All right," Scully said. "What other dreams do you get?"  
  
"I don't remember them all, I just always wake up thirsty. I think maybe he wants me to watch him kill."  
  
"Shit Monica!" John exclaimed suddenly. "This has been happening all this time and you never once told anyone?"  
  
"They're just dreams, John," she replied, staying strong.  
  
"Bull shit they're just dreams. They're murders."  
  
"Yeah well up until know I didn't think they actually happened!"  
  
"You've never been brought to a crime scene like this before?"  
  
"No."  
  
"So if this guy can kill people with his mind," John stated. "How do we stop him from killing you?" Monica shrugged.  
  
"Kill him." Scully's brow creased.  
  
"But I read the report this morning and you were about to weren't you?"  
  
"Years ago, yes."  
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
"I didn't know that this would be the consequence of not shooting him, and if I did I would probably have been charged."  
  
"Okay, okay, who cares?" John started. "First of all, you don't go anywhere alone all right?" Monica rolled her eyes.  
  
"John I'm fine."  
  
"How the hell do we know when he's in there? He could come in during the day."  
  
"But he didn't-"  
  
"Didn't?" Scully asked.  
  
"Until just before." The room went silent.  
  
"What did he do?"  
  
"I was thinking about it all, and I tried to convince myself that he couldn't do it, that it wasn't him, and then he kind of said, "Can't I?" And yes, that's all."  
  
"Interesting," Scully stated.  
  
"Freaky shit," John grumbled, tapping his pencil on the desk.  
  
*  
  
"You sure you don't mind?" Monica asked as she followed Scully to her door.  
  
"God Monica you're not even staying overnight." She laughed. "Calm down."  
  
"Yeah, sorry."  
  
*  
  
"All right Dibley level with me, what do you want?" John asked as he sat opposite Dibley in his cell.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Nothing? Don't give me that crap."  
  
"I just want her to stop."  
  
"Stop what?"  
  
"Being FBI."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"So that she can't be better than anybody ever."  
  
"You think she's better than you? In what way?"  
  
"She think she's better than everyone."  
  
*  
  
"Do you want some cof-" Scully stopped, William in her arms, as she walked out to the main room and saw Monica just standing there. "Monica?" She didn't reply. Scully put her son into his basinet and walked over to her. "Monica?" she repeated.  
  
*  
  
"So what's it all for Dibley? You want to torture her?"  
  
"Partly."  
  
"You like being safe in this cell. You like it that you can get away with everything. Well, Dibley, I think you've shown your hand too soon."  
  
"Have I? I think I've shown it just right." A smirk formed on his face.  
  
*  
  
Scully watched as Monica's face contorted, her mouth remaining open slightly. She started gasping for air, unable to do anything to breathe. Scully's eyes widened as she watched, before picking up the phone. Dialling 911, she told them she had an emergency, asphyxiation, she said, before identifying herself as a federal officer and hanging up. She looked back over at Monica, grabbing her around the waist before she fell and lowering her onto the ground, tilting her head back and sideways as water started to flow out of her mouth.  
  
*  
  
"What are you doing?" John asked.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"You seem preoccupied."  
  
"Yeah?" John's phone began ringing and Dibley watched with interest as he answered.  
  
"John Doggett-" He stopped as the background noise caught him. A loud gurgling. Scully's voice cut above it, high pitched and urgent.  
  
"John, Monica's drowning. If you're with him-" She hung up.  
  
"Scully? Dana!"  
  
"No answer?" Dibley asked snidely. John put the phone back in his pocket and flicked a switch on his belt, hidden behind his jacket.  
  
"Monica's in a bad way it seems," he stated calmly. "You know anything about it?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Really? Monica, see, she saw those six women you killed."  
  
"Bad sleeper, she is. Really restless. Hear she hasn't had a good night's sleep in several years."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
"I like to visit her at night, perhaps." He smiled.  
  
"Did you kill those women?"  
  
"Um...No, I didn't."  
  
"Then who did?"  
  
"Must've been the devil himself, they're saying in here."  
  
"The devil who works through you, right?"  
  
"Narr, not through me, in me."  
  
"So you did kill them, except that it was the devil who did it, the devil inside of you?"  
  
"You're running out of time to get your confession John. A person can't live without oxygen for that long." John didn't waste a minute, drawing his gun.  
  
"Let her go, now." Dibley shrugged.  
  
"Sorry, I can't. She's at the centre of everything."  
  
"Centre of what? What's everything?"  
  
"The world."  
  
"Let her go!" John's mobile started ringing again but he ignored it, pointing the gun straight at Dibley and firing, hitting him square between the eyes.  
  
*  
  
Scully watched as Monica lay still on the carpet next to her as the medics pulled up. Water had been draining from her mouth for several minutes, but she still hadn't opened her eyes or shown any indication of a recovery. Scully ran her hand through Monica's hair.  
  
"Monica, come on," she whispered.  
  
"Dana," Monica replied, almost inaudibly, as she squeezed her friend's hand. "What time is it?"  
  
"Monica, it's been ten minutes since you collapsed." Monica's eyes opened and she sat up at the same time as the door opened and the medics came rushing in. Scully watched as she stood up, Monica looking from the medics to the floor to Scully. She looked herself up and down.  
  
"Are you okay miss?" The medics asked Scully. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  
  
"Fine thanks. Listen, I don't think you'll be needed here. Sorry."  
  
As they left, Monica turned to Scully, her eyes wide.  
  
"What happened?" Scully stood and walked over to her, across the dry carpet.  
  
"You almost drowned," Scully informed her. "You don't remember?" Monica shook her head.  
  
"No, I, I thought I'd fallen asleep."  
  
*  
  
Skinner sat opposite John in the interview room.  
  
"Should I believe you?"  
  
"Yeah," John replied. "Listen Scully called the ambos, they recorded it, she told them what was happening. I recorded Dibley-"  
  
"Yes, I've heard the tape."  
  
"How is she?"  
  
"Fine, like it never happened."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She doesn't remember a thing."  
  
"Well I'm sure Scully does-"  
  
"Yes she does. Quite vivid actually. Listen John, we're going to let you out but I have to put you on probation, and send you to the counsellor."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"The cops aren't happy with the arrangement just so you know."  
  
"I know sir, thankyou."  
  
"They want you charged with murder and frankly I don't blame them."  
  
"Assistant Director, can I go and see them now?" Skinner nodded, sighing as Doggett left. As much as he wanted to believe that there had been good reason to shoot Dibley, he couldn't be sure. What would have happened if he hadn't shot Dibley? Would he really be down an officer? He didn't know, but he wasn't going to take that as an option.  
  
*  
  
John was waiting for Monica as she entered the next morning. She smiled at him brightly.  
  
"You're out," she stated. He nodded.  
  
"Yeah, Skinner got me off."  
  
"Ah, that's good, isn't it?" She backtracked as she saw his face change.  
  
"Yeah, it's good."  
  
"You right there John?" Scully asked from her desk, watching them. He nodded, partly ignoring her. He was watching Monica, who was just standing there. John took a step forward awkwardly.  
  
"Can I-" He drifted off before the rest of the question could be posed. Monica smiled.  
  
"Yeah," she replied, stepping into the hug. "Thanks John. I may not remember why you did it, but then again I always will." She pulled back, looking over at Scully. "What's on your list today Dana?"  
  
"I'm out all day at the morgue and the school," she replied, standing and moving past them. "Excuse me, I'll see you all tomorrow," she replied, walking out. "Have a good day," she called behind her.  
  
John turned back to Monica. "What are we going to do today?"  
  
"You're on leave, you're not meant to be here," Monica replied, grinning. John shrugged.  
  
"Wanna go for lunch?" he asked. She thought.  
  
"Yeah, why not." They grabbed their things.  
  
"How'd you sleep?" John asked as they walked into the elevator, the doors closing around them. Monica brushed her hand briefly against his.  
  
"Like a log," she replied, leaning against the cool metal. "Where we going?"  
  
"I know a place," John replied. Half an hour later they sat in the centre of the crop circle, eating warm sandwiches and drinking soda, talking and laughing for the duration of the day.  
  
The End. 


End file.
